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International Copyrighted (in England, her Col- 
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Works of the Best Authors 



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No. 448 



THE BRIDE AND THE 
BURGLAR 



A COMEDY IN ONE ACT 

BY 

FLORENCE LEWIS SPEARE 

All Rights Reserved 
Copyright, 1922, by Samuel French 



Price 30 Cents 



New York 

SAMUEL FRENCH 

'Publisher 

28-30 West 38th Street 



London i 

SAMUEL FRENCH, Ltd. f 

26 Southampton Street I 

STRAND I 



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The Charm School 

A fascinating- comedy in three acts by Alice Duer Mill- 
er and Robert Milton. 6 males, 10 females. (May be 
played by 5 males and 8 females). Any number of school 
girls may be used in the ensembles. Scenes, two inter- 
iors. Costumes, modern. Plays 2V2 hours. 

The story of "The Charm School" is familiar to Mrs. 
Miller's readers. It relates the adventures of a hand- 
some young- automobile salesman scarcely out of his 
'teens who, upon inheriting a girl's boarding school from 
a maiden aunt, insists on running it himself, according to 
his own ideas, chief of which is, by the way, that the 
dominant feature in the education of the young girl of 
today should be CHARM. 

The situations that arise are teeming with humor — 
clean, wholesome humor. In the end the young man 
gives up the school and promises to wait until the most 
precocious of his pupils reaches a marriageable age. 

"The Charm School" has the freshness of youth, the 
inspiration of an extravagant but novel idea, the charm 
of originality, and the promise of wholesome, sanely 
amusing, pleasant entertainment. We strongly recom- 
mend it for high school production. 

"The Charm School" was first produced at the Bijou 
Theatre, New York, and then toured the country. Two 
companies are now playing it in England. Price, 75 cents. 

Daddy Long-Legs 

A charming comedy in four acts, by Jean Webster. 
The full cast calls for 6 males, 7 females and 6 orphans, 
but the play, by the easy doubling of some of the. char- 
acters may be played by 4 males, 4 females and three 
orphans. The orphans appear only in the first act and 
may be played by small girls of any age. Four easy 
interior scenes. Costumes modern. Plays 2^/^ hours. 

The New York Times reviewer, on the morning fol- 
lowing the Broadway production, wrote the following 
comment: 

"If you will take your pencil and write down, one be- 
lo-w the other, the words delightful, charming, sweet, 
beautiful and entertaining, and then draw a line and 
add them up, the answer will be 'Daddy Long-Legs.' 
To that result you might even add brilliant, pathetic 
and humorous, but the answer even then would be just 
what it was before — ^^the play which Miss Jean Webster 
has made from her book, 'Daddy Long-Legs,' and which 
was presented at the Gaiety last night. To attempt to 
describe the simplicity and beauty of 'Daddy Long-Legs' 
would be like attempting to describe the first breath of 
Spring after an exceedingly tiresome and hard Winter." 

"Daddy Long-Legs" enjoyed a two-years' run in New 
York and was then toured for over three years, and is 
now published in play form for the first time. 

Price, 75 'Cents. 

(The Abovp Are SHl)iect to Royalty When Produced ) 

SAMUEL FRENCH, 2S-30 West 3Sth Street, New York City 

]Ve-*v and Explicit Descriptive Catalogue 3Iailed 

Free on Recjuest 



THE BRIDE AND THE 
BURGLAR 

A COMEDY IN ONE ACT 



By 
FLORENCE LEWIS SPEARE 



All Rights Reserved 
Copyright^ 1922, by Samuel French 



New York 
SAMUEL FRENCH 

Publisher 
28-30 West 38th Street 



London 

SAMUEL FRENCH, Ltd. 

26 Southampton Street 

STRAND 



IK 






"THE BRIDE AND THE BURGLAR" is fully protected 
by copyright and all rights are reserved. 

Permission to act, to read publicly, or to make any use of 
this play must be obtained from Samuel French, 28-30 West 
38th Street, New York. 

It may be presented by amateurs upon payment of a royalty 
of five dollars for each performance, payable to Samuel 
French one week before the date when the play is given. 

Professional rates quoted on application. 

Whenever this play is produced the following notice must 
appear on all programs, printing and advertising for the play: 
"Produced by special arrangement with Samuel French of 
New York." 



©CI.0 63507 

TMP96-006668 



CHARACTERS 

The Bride. 
Her Husband. 
The Burglar. 

Scene : The interior of a living-room in their new, 
unoccupied bungalozv home. In the suburbs, 
and just follozving the honeymoon. 

Time: Spring. Near midnight and in a heavy 
downpour of rain. 



COSTUMES 

The bride wears a simple dark traveling frock or 
coat-suit under a slicker — hut, like any lady, 
she is proud of her feet — and in spite of travel, 
in spite of rain, she wears very smart, thin slip- 
pers with very high French heels. Her feet 
must he shod conspicuously, in the last cry of 
smart fashion. 

Her hushand in traveling tzveeds, automobile cap, 
coat, gauntlets. 

The burglar wears an old slouch hat, old but not 
shabby clothes, rubber-soled low shoes — or 
sneakers. Small black mask, revolver, dark lan- 
tern, file. 



STAGE SET 

The living-room, scattered with pieces of boxed 
furniture and bric-a-brac. Atmosphere of "just 
moving on" must be clearly indicated. Windows, 
right and left, at the back of the room. They are 
boarded up on the inside. The entrance to the 
house is right-lower. Across from the entrance is 
a stair leading to the upper rooms. A turn in the 
stairway shows a wide landing, and then the steps 
disappear as they continue on above. There is a 
door leading to the kitchen, etc., back of the stairs. 

A clutter of wedding gifts, tied with smashing 
white bows, cards attached. A roll of Navajo 
rugs ; a brand new refrigerator. This refrigerator 
must stand conspicuously placed between the win- 
dows. A flask of alcohol, a chafing-dish placed on 
top of refrigerator. A tea-table, a couple of wicker 
chairs. Sideboard, containing linen, knives, forks 
and dishes. This stands near the stairs. Down stage, 
conspicuously placed, an ornate chest containing the 
family silver. This is the groom's gift to the bride. 
The action of the play centers about it. A statue 
of Venus of Milo — a common and ornate colored 
glass vase or cheap gilt vase, with its card attached 
by a piece of ordinary string. A small clock which 
strikes the hours. Loot for the burglar scattered 
around in bureau dra\yers, under the stairs, near the 
sideboard — in various parts of the room so as to 
give him an opportunity to keep at work while step- 
ping about. Eatables for a supper must be in the 
ice-box. Among them must be bananas. Burglar 
alarm. 

5 



6 THE BRIDE AND THE BURGLAR 

Before the curtain rises Mendelssohn's wedding- 
march rings out triumphantly. The strains mingle 
with the sounds of a terrific storm of wind and rain. 
An automobile is heard approaching. The horn 
blows as it comes to a full stop outside the bunga- 
low. 

Curtain rises on a dark stage. A gust of wind 
almost blows the door off its hinges. The bride 
laughs and scampers in, gasping a little — but too 
happy to care that she is lashed about by a storm. 
Lights on. Husband apparently has touched the 
electric button which controls the house lights. It is 
in the woodzvork just inside the door. The bride 
shakes the rain off — examines each shoe critically. 

The bride speaks: "My lovely French shoes es- 
caped mud — and everything." She laughs with a 
happy crow. Husband is having his fun dashing in 
and out with small baggage. And the storm rages 
and the rain pours down. Bride busily wiping off 
her gay little shoes all this time. Uses her nice little 
white handkerchief and soils it — but doesn't care. 
A flash of lightning. 



The Bride and the Burglar 



Bride. (Speaks in the dark) Oh, what a dread- 
ful storm ! 

Groom. (Coming in) It's a deluge! (Lights 
switched on reveals the Bride daintily holding small 
leather vanity bag, while the Groom struggles in un- 
der a load of traveling paraphernalia — hat-boxes, 
luncheon hamper, rugs, extra wraps, etc.) 

Bride. (Looking about her) What a slick little 
place ! 

Groom. (Throwing down luggage) Like it, sweet- 
heart ? 

Bride. It's a love of a place! A perfect duck — 
darling. 

Groom. (Grins) Honest Injun? 

Bride. I'm just crazy about it ! (They embrace.) 

Groom. But you haven't really seen it yet, sweet- 
heart ! 

Bride. (In his arms) Oh, yes, I did. The stairs 
are so cute ! 

Groom. And that door leads to the kitchen — and 
dining-room. And you go on to another door which 
opens into the garden ! Your garden — my garden ! 
You plant roses and I plant vegetables. 

"Bride. Yes ! Everything but onions ! (They 
embrace.) I'm just crazy about planting! Won't it 
be love among the roses ! 

Groom. You've said it! Sure, you won't regret 
living way out in the suburbs ? 

7 



8 THE BRIDE AND THE BURGLAR 

Bride. Of course not! I love nature! Besides. 
I am going to have all my girl friends out every 
week-end ! They are terribly anxious to feel how it 
seems to be waked up by the song of crickets. 

Groom. You beautiful thing! We'll introduce 'em 
to hoeing, and picking June bugs ; and maybe they 
will like it so well, you'll get all your friends to 
marry and build nice little bungalows next door to 
ours. 

Bride. Not that close ! I mean to devote all my 
life hereafter to you alone, darling. 

Groom. Sweetheart! (They embrace.) Our 
lives will he one continuous honeymoon. As we sit 
together beside the open fire I shall tell you over 
and over again that you are the sweetest, the dear- 
est, most beautiful, most adorable girl in all the 
world ! 

Bride. How perfectly slick! (They embrace.) 
But we must be practical, darling. Let's count and 
see if all our presents came. I tried to be very tact- 
ful with mother — but you know, maids may have 
overlooked something 

Groom. (Stooping to examine tag) Here are the 
rugs I got from dad. You know he didn't treat us 
half bad — when you think of everything he did 

Bride. He's the most attractive man I know — 
beside you ! 

Groom. He was radiant when I told him I was 
going to marry you. 

Bride. He's devoted to me — I know (Gives 

little shriek. ) Horrors ! 

Groom. What's the matter? 

Bride. (Holds hideous vase at arm's length) 
This freak ! My Aunt Julia's gift. 

Groom. That rich, aristocratic old lady living at 
the Ritz? 

Bride. Yes. Isn't it ghastly. I just know it was 
parked for ages in a five and ten cent store. 



THE BRIDE AND THE BURGLAR 9 

Groom. Smash it, dear. 

Bride. I don't dare. We must remember I ex- 
pect to be her heir. 

Groom. Stick it up in the attic and bring it down 
when you see her car at the door — and then place it 
where her eyes will light upon it! Flower-holder — 
or something. 

Bride. (Mitrrmirs) You've a wonderful brain! 
You really have. 

Groom. Nothing marvelous. (But he grins de- 
lightedly.) Those wicker chairs are for our porch. 

Bride. And there's the wicker tea-table. And — 
oh, look ! Here's the chafing-dish our cook gave me ! 
(Dashes to ice-chest where it stands.) A flash in- 
side ! (Sniffs.) Filled ! All ready for me to cook 
our first dinner together. 

Groom. Great! I'm aging for that food right 
now. ■ (Picks lip clock.) And say, darling, this lit- 
tle thing is a bit of all right. . 

Bride. It's perfectly killing the way people give 
clocks ! At least we escaped what always looks to 
be a bankrupt sale of them — and common-place 
lamps ! Honey ! Look at that adorable Venus ! 

Groom. Your art school friend's gift? 

Bride. Yes — isn't it languid-looking? 

Groom. Must have heavy ankles! Her desire to 
cover 'em is so evident. 

Bride. I love her. She is so bored-looking. 
(^Groom is dragging his luggage about, looks puz- 
zled.) That ice-chest has to be dragged out. It 
can hold our lunch-basket things — I have a whole 
lot of good things in there, sweetie. When you think 
how hectic it was when we left the hotel — I think I 

did pretty well (^Groom counting pieces^ 

scratches his ear, frozvns. Bride is busy peering info 
the ice-box.) I sent a hotel boy to buy the luncheon 
while I was pinning my veil on. (She looks about 
her again.) We did pretty well in wedding gifts. 



lo THE BRIDE AND THE BURGLAR 

But everyone said I was the most popular girl in 
our set. (She laughs.) 

Groom. So was I — until I got engaged. 

Bride. (Coming to him) Darling! How per- 
fectly pathetic Why did you ever marry me ? 

Groom. I was only fooling, sweetheart. I was 
not so attractive — as some ! 

Bride. Because, when a girl fished for compli- 
ments, you never bit! 

Groom. I bet you had to listen to compliments 
all the time. 

Bride. Pessimist! (They embrace.) I never 
really cared for anybody but you — dearest. 

Groom. Same here. (They embrace.) 

Bride. (Peeping round) Gracious! What is in 
that long, "hope-chest" looking box? 

Groom. (Grins) That, darling, contains the fam- 
ily silver. 

Bride. (Shrieks) No! 

Groom. Yes — I found that box — it looked so 
aristocratic I bought it for your room — and then I 
locked up your silver in it. 

Bride. But — darling — suppose the house had been 
broken into? I'm just paralyzed to think what might 
have happened to my silver 

Groom. Nothing could happen, as the silver was 
not here until to-day. I planned to have dad open 
the place and set that chest in here. My bride must 
see her husband's gift to her the moment she en- 
tered her little home. 

Bride. You dear heart ! Thank you so much ! 
(They embrace.) Listen! (Seriously.) You recall 
the story of Ruth and Naomi? (He looks blank.) 
Well, it's in the Bible. Ruth says to Naomi, "May 
all kinds of dreadful things happen to me if ever 
we two become separated — one from the other." 

Groom. Meaning? 

Bride. This! May all sorts of dreadful and ter- 



THE BRIDE AND THE BURGLAR ii 

rible things happen to me if ever I permit this silver 
to be separated from me. (They embrace.) It 
means so much — it really does — for had I been more 
thoughtful and not quite so greedy — and not insisted 
on having that beautiful silver service^we might 
have had a bigger car! 

Groom. (Laughs) It's the biggest car I can get 
into our garage! 

Bride. My dear ! But you really ought to discuss 
money matters with me. 

Groom. Want to take tucks in my pockets al- 
ready! (Kisses her.) It's all right — and now that 
you have your confession ofif your mind — hear what 
a wretch I am. I find I have left your grip down 
at the depot. 

Bride. My goodness! Really 

Groom. Don't worry — I know just where it is 
standing 

Bride. But, darling ! How hectic ! I simply can- 
not live in these things till morning! 

Groom. There are some of my things — — 

Bride. (Shrieks — covers ears) You're joking! 

Groom. It's all right. I beg your pardon, dear— 
" I'll have it to you in a jifify. 

Bride. I'm frantic ! We left in such a rush at the 

last Everything went in that bag. Even my 

most bewildering frock— the one you love Oh, I 

can't sleep. 

Groom. (Hustling into coat, etc.) I thought I 
had the durn thing— I beg your pardon 

Bride. It's all right, darling. (Kisses htm.) 

Groom. You won't be scared here — alone, 
precious ? 

Bride. No ! I'll be fixing a nice supper for you. 

Groom. Fine! I'll set the little ole clock ! You 
can be counting the ticks till I return ! 

Bride. (Accepts clock) How thrilling. 



12 THE BRIDE AND THE BURGLAR 

Groom. When you hear the chimes striking f^w — 
I'll be at the door. 

Bride. Stunning! We shall have our first re- 
union to-night. 

Groom. That's the idea. (Kisses.) This is the 
room! Ten is the hour! Farewell — till we meet 
again 

Bride. Don't ride too fast — but hurry back home ! 
(They einbraee.) 

Groom. Trust me for that, dear! (Kiss again.) 
It's some storm! (Opens door — rush of storm beats 
in. Closes it. Settles his collar and cap more 
firmly.) 

Bride. Do you think it's growing worse? 

Groom. No, dear. It's mostly wind. Good-bye. 
(Embrace.) 

Bride. Darling, take care of yourself. Don't 
skid! 

Groom. I'll be careful. (Opens door. Storm 
hozvls.) I'm off. (Door bangs shut.) 

Bride. Where does all the wind come from? 
(Door opens.) 

Groom. Sylvia! If you get frightened, the tele- 
phone is connected. Right there. At the turn of the 
stairs. 

Bride. All right, dear. 

Groom. Bye! 

Bride. Bye. (Door bangs.) I'll start and un- 
pack that food. (Crosses to ice-box.) 

Groom. (At door again) And — Sylvia! There's 
a burglar alarm set. Don't touch the windows or it 
will wake the dead. Bye. (Bangs door.) 

Bride. I'll remember ! I shall need a table ! 
(Door opens.) 

Groom. Oh, Sweetheart! (Storm hozvls.) 

Bride. You — again ? 

Groom. I forgot to kiss you (They embrace 

again.) 



THE BRIDE AND THE BURGLAR 13 

Bride. Shall I go along with you, dear? 

Groom. Not this trip, flatterer — I want that sup- 
per when I get back. (Reaches door once more.) 
Sure you won't be timid? 

Bride. No, no ! But I am frantic till I see my 
bag! Run along — you adorable lamb. 

Groom. Fm gone this time, sure. (Embrace. ) 
Bye ! (Storm shrieks and lashes about the house. 
Lady hums snatch of the zvedding march.) 

Bride. Poor darling will be so cold and wet ! He 
will want a lot to eat! (Humming, she stoops and 
opens the ice-chest door — a long side it is. Her back 
is tozvard the house-door. Storm lashes and shakes 
the place. It is at the height of its fury. She raises 
her head suddenly and listens to it. Flash of light- 
ning. She looks at the zvindows — peers out in 

kitchen.) I'm glad everything is snug inside 

Glory ! what a storm ! (Dozvn szvoops the zvind zvith 
a shriek; lightning flashes, rain pours zvith a rattle 
on the house — and the lights in the room go out. 
Enter the Burglar. Bride smothers a cry — looks 
straight into the bull's-eye, slides to the floor, her 
hack against ice-box door, her feet thrust straight 
out in front of her. Burglar szvings his light about 
— moves stealthily. Lady covers an outcry. Burglar 
stands.) 

Burglar. Wot the 'ell ! (Szvitches off his light — 
pads softly in darkness. When close to the Bride 
he turns light on. She is cozvering azvay from him, 
against the ice-box. He covers her vuith a revolver; 
clicks it. Speaks in sullen, muttered tone.) Don't 
move. Who are yuh, huh? (She zvets her lips, 
gases straight up at him, numbed.) Who are yuh? 

Lady. (After pause — faintly) Who do you take 
me for? One of the family? 

(The reply is given to kill time, to give her a chance 
to cover her fright, rather than that she is aware 



14 THE BRIDE AND THE BURGLAR 

of what she has said. She expects to he shot 
any minute.) 

Burglar. (After slight pause, advances, regards 
her, taking in all details of her attire. She cowers 
away from him) Well, say, I thought yuh wuz, 
'till I got a look at yer rags. When I opened the 
door and saw yuh squattin' there, thought yuh wuz 
the lady of the house fer sure. (Grins.) One of me 
own famh'ly, huh? 

Lady. (Grabs at this chance) Why, yes! I'm 
a burglar, too. 

Burglar. How long yuh bin here ? 

Lady. (Naively) Oh — just a few minutes. 

Burglar. I didn't see no lights from the road, so 
I thought the crib wuz empty. (Chuckles.) Gee, 
yuh mus' a bin hungry, beatin' fer the feed box first 
thing. 

Lady. (Gaining confidence) I am hungry. (Dives 
in ice-chest, hauls out banana.) Have a banana? 

Burglar. (Emphatically) Naw! None of yer 
dago feed fer mine. If yuh hadn't bin so busy, 

yuh might a heard me prowlin' round (Sudden 

idea.) Say! How'd yuh get in? 

Lady. (Banana poised in mid-air) Oh — I got in 
with a pass key ! 

Burglar. Gee, yuh struck it rich. (Leans for- 
ward, regards her shoes furiously.) But wot in 'ell 
are yuh wearin' them flip-flops fer? Want to raise 
the bloomin' fambly? 

Lady. (Regards shoes critically) Well — you see, 
I didn't intend burglaring to-night. (Rises.) But 
a friend's auto brought me here — and seeing — the 
crib — was empty — well, here I am ! 

Burglar. (Doubles up zvith noiseless mirth) Oh, 
I say ! My eye ! That's a good un. (Winks.) I'm 
wise, all right. But yuh can't jolly me. Hungry. 
Uses a dope to fetch yer here, an' then tips him off 



THE BRIDE AND THE BURGLAR 15 

^id — "This is me home, Jawn ! Good-night" ! Gets 
out and sends the poor boob away. (Chuckles.) Oh, 
I don't know the ways of you httle Ught-fingered 
ladies of the road — oh, no! 

Lady. (Joins him in noiseless laughter; sudden 
thought halts her) You didn't see the auto, did 
you? 

Burglar. Nawthin' past me but the scenery— I 
cum in frum the country, an' your bloke went city- 
wise, didn't he? (Starts to look about; is light on 
his feet as a cat. Flashes light behind barrels, 
boxes, etc.) 

Lady. (Slips across to house-door, szvitches on the 

lights) 

Burglar. (Startled by flood of light) Here, 
now — quit that. (Squares on her fiercely.) 

Lady. It makes the work easier. 

Burglar. (Growls) Wot work ? 

Lady. (Unflinching; chin up) Since we are 
burglars together — we — we will loot this house — as 
partners ! 

Burglar. (After pause) Yer a cool un. 

Lady. Well, let's get busy. 

(He zvalks back tozvard ice-chest, she watching ;^ then 
she tries to make the stairs at a rush to gain the 
telephone. He turns, grabs her by zvrist, throws 
her heavily to floor, she sinks on one knee.) 

Burglar. Naw yuh don't. None of yer tricks on 
me. I'm not yer gas-wagon fren'— see? You stay 
right here — understand? 

Lady. (Wincing with pain) What are you afraid 

of^ 

Burglar. (Quietlv) Oh, nothin'— abs'lutely 
nawthin'. Hungry— but yuh stay right here' long side 
of me. (Releases her.) Now I know wot yuh are 
here fer. After a chest of silver ; same as me. You 



i6 THE BRIDE AND THE BURGLAR 

can't fool me. So better work on the level or I'll 
work alone. (Examines his revolver th on ght fully.) 

Lady. (Has dropped back near door; zvhirls 
round, beats her fists against it) Oh, Bob ! Bob ! 
Why did I ever let you go? 

Burglar. (Puts gun azvay; grins) So that's his 
name, is it? AVell, I'm here and he ain't — so yuh bet- 
ter git back to the feed box, Hungry — take life easy, 
and make the best of yer substitute, while I takes a 
look round the place. 

Lady. (Recovering nerve) No, I won't That 

silver belongs to me — and I mean to keep it. 

Burglar. (Gruffs) We'll see. (Starts toward 
chest — Lady anticipates him, covers his approach 
by stepping in his path.) 

Lady. This house belongs to me, too. 

Burglar. (Sharply) Wot's that? 

Lady. (Recovering lost ground) To burgle — of 
course ! I got here first. You've all the rest of 
the town to choose from. Leave this house to me. 
(She coaxes him.) 

Burglar. (Testily) Aw, shet up! Wot d' yuh 
take me fer? Leave a sure-nuff swag fer an empty 
shack and a broken head? 

Lady. Then be on the level ! Take everything 
else in the "bloomin' swag" — but leave the silver for 
me. 

Burglar. (Humors her) Very well, I'll divvy 
wid yuh, Hungry. Now yuh best swing yer lamps 
round here while I takes a look inside. (Exits to 
kitchen.) 

Lady. (Alone) I must save that silver — but how 
— how ! (Looks szviftly about; drags rugs, zvraps, 
etc., forzvard; piles them around the chest, then sits 
on it and attempts to spread her skirt out over it. 
Is smiling zvhen the Burglar returns.) 

Burglar. (Holding up loot-bag) Not so bad fer 
a starter, eh? (He moves noiselessly about, opening 



THE BRIDE AND THE BURGLAR 17 

drawers, etc., takes whatever strikes his fancy. Is 
in good humor.) 

Lady. I got tired burglar ing. Fin resting a 
minute. 

Burglar. You'll need all yer strength standin' 
on yer legs goin' back to the city. (^Lady starts in 
alarm. ) Honest! (Chuckles.) These weddin' gifts 
are a cinch fer our trade. Everythin' new and 
shinin' — strictly up-to-date. But wot hurts me 
sometimes is to find that goods which promised to 
be genuwine is plated. Let's hope this silver turns 
out all right. 

Lady. (Complacently) It's genuwine, thank you ! 

Burglar. (Turns, smiles broadly on her) How 
d'yuh know? 

Lady. (Gallantly) Why — I read it! Newspaper 
story — a whole column! A society wedding, you 
know. 

Burglar. (Returns to his work) That's wot I 
calls a public-spirited gent. Puts a Hne in the papers 
where he knows a fren's eye will spot it. Honest, 
the way I follows the sassiety columns would put a 
Vanderbilt on the blink. An' when they puts in a 
line statin' the waliation of the goods, I calls that 
real brotherly love — huh. Hungry? (Turns, regards 
her whimsically.) Have yuh found the silver? 

Lady. No. 

Burglar. \A4iere'd yuh look fer it? 

Lady. Under the stairs, behind things — on top the 
ice-chest. Evervwhere! Guess it hasn't come yet. 

Burglar. (Advances szviftly) No? Wot's this 
yer perched on? (Grabs her, szvings her down and 
back of him.) 

Lady. (Dancing with rage) Let that chest alone ! 
Don't touch it — you fiend! 

Burglar. (On knee, zuorking neatly at lock) 
We'll just have a peek inside. (She slaps at his hand, 
he tosses* her back.) Keep cool, Hungry, keep cool. 



i8 THE BRIDE AND THE BURGLAR 

(Throws hack the lid.) Thar it is! (Reaches in, 
brings up box containing silver — places it on floor 
and proceeds deftly to pry it open.) 

Lady. Give me my silver — give it to me ! (She 
dives for it.) 

Burglar. Cheese it, Hungry. (Opens box, picks 
up silver pitcher, eyes it gloatingly.) Say ! Ain't 
she a charmer ! 

Lady. (Going over his shoulder for it zvitJi her 
hand) You will scratch it, you beast ! (He drops it 
in his bag, gathers up a handfid — she attempts to 
duck under his arm.) I'll get the spoons, anyway. 

Burglar. (Gruffly) Hands off, Hungry. (Throzvs 
her so that she drops sidezvays on the floor — she is 
almost in tears.) 

Lady. You promised to divide — and you don't 
keep your word. 

Burglar. (Still filling his bags) Aw, shet up! 
(Turns.) Here ! Catch them durn baby spoons. 

Lady. (Tucking them in her blouse) I want a 
full half share ! 

Burglar. I'll divvy wid yuh later, see? 

Lady. (Dusting herself off) I'd rather have my 
half now. 

Burglar. (Serenely unmoved) I'll tote the stuff 
to the city and then give yuh yer share. 

Lady. No! I want 

Burglar. Listen ! It's my plan or none. Wot 
d' yuh say? (Slings pack over his shoulder, picks 
up an empty one.) 

Lady. What can I say ! You swiped the stuff 
from me. You know it's all mine — and I'm de- 
termined not to lose it. If I have to follow you 
to the ends of the earth, don't for a minute think 
you will ever lose sight of me — until you hand me 
over that silver! (She jams hat on head, picks up 
raincoat.) 

Burglar. That's the way to talk I Keep that 



THE BRIDE AND THE BURGLAR 19 

style up, Hungry, and you'll win out yet. (He 
starts away.) 

Lady. Where are you going now? 

Burglar. To bat me peepers around the loft 

Comin' up? 

Lady. No! 

Burglar. (On steps) Well, yuh can't git nito 
any mischief— but, remember, I'm watchin' yer. 
High-handed games don't work with me, Hungry— 
don't fergit that. (SJie turns angrily away from 
him. Glance falls on ugly vase.) 

Lady. Wait a minute, please. (Darts for vase.) 

Burglar. (Mutters, surprised) Wot the 'ell 

Lady. (Holds up vase) Put this with your loot, 

will you? 

Burglar. Cheese it ! Gee, yer a green thmg to 
pick that durn ugly mug. Ain't wuth a brass 
nickel. (Exits.) .rr i:,- 

Lady. Just what I said, Aunt Julia! (Holding 
vase dangling in one hand, listens to storm hozvl 
and siveep around the house.) I must keep that 
wretch here— but how? How? (Sudden inspira- 
tion; crows zvith glee.) I have it! I'll serve him 
Bob's supper. Fatten the wretch for slaughter. 

Burglar. (Re-entering, descends stairs slozvly) 
Nawthin' up thar. Hungry, absulutely nawthin' but 

dust and picters I'm too moral a man to be an 

art collector. We might as well be hoofin' it 

(She is hatted and has the ugly vase in her arms, 
holding it like a baby.) Say! yer not gom' to tote 
that durn ugly mug? 

Lady. You needn't care— it's not worth a brass 

Burglar. (Slings loot across shoulders) Honest, 
yer the greenest, bummest burglar I ever see. Hun- 
gry (Grins.) But come along. I can't tuck the 
planner in my pocket— an' it would be an awful 
shame to take that lady out in this storm without 



20 THE BRIDE AND THE BURGLAR 

a raincoat. (Indicates the Venus.) Come on. Hun- 
gry ! Sorry I ain't got a car to offer — but I'll help 
yer keep yer feet. 

Lady. (Tagging behind) Wait a minute, (He 
turns.) I'm awful hungry. 

Burglar. (Rough) Aw, cut that out. 

Lady. (Eagerly) I saw — a swell — supper in that 
ice-chest ! Slick idea to clean it out before we hike. 
We may not have a chance to eat again for a long 
time. Be a sport ! (Softly — coming nearer him.) 
I'd love most awfully to feed you. 

Burglar. (After pause) Well — (grozvls) — I 
don't s'pose there's any great risk. All right, Hun- 
gry. 

Lady. (Cry of joy, smash of crockery) Great! 

Burglar. Say ! Wot did I tell yuh ? Never take 
nuthin' breakable — stick to metals — see? 

Lady. I finished Aunt Julia ! 

Burglar. (Barks) Wot ? 

Lady. (Stoops, shozus him white pasteboard) 
See? "From Aunt Juha." Read the card. 

Burglar. (Admiringly) Say, you're the limit. 

Lady. (Gaily removes hat — glances at clock as 
she starts to arrange supper) . Am I ? Just drag that 
table forward, will you — and fix chairs while I hunt 
food. (Tosses her wraps one side.) If I was slow 
finding silver, I did open my eyes to the crackers 
and cheese, didn't I? (She gives him knives, etc. — 
and she arranges the plates. ) 

Burglar. (Azvkzvardly assisting) You may be 
a bum burglar — but yer no slouch on looks ! 

Lady. Don't you jolly me. 

Burglar. (Abashed a little) That's no kiddin'. 
There's nawthin' gaudy about yer style — and say! 
Listen, you got all the females I ever saw before 
skun a mile on looks. (Grins.) And got yer eye 
peeled fer the main chanct, too. 

Lady, Really ? 



THE BRIDE AND THE BURGLAR 21 

Burglar. Sure! You keep yer wits about yer 
and you'll make a hit yet — land a prize ! 

Lady. Prove it by handing over that silver! 

Burglar. (Testily) Ah, fergit that silver, can't 
yuh ? Wait till I fetch it home. 

Lady. If I must — I must. (Smiles on him.) Sit 
down and help yourself. (She shoves a plate of 
sandwiches to him. She starts to arrange chafing- 
dish.) 

Burglar. Wot's the name of that fancy get-up? 
(Indicates with knife.) 

Lady. It is called a grill, I believe — a chafing-dish 
grill. 

Burglar. (Grins) More like a frying-pan wid a 
college eddication ! 

Lady. Not bad, either I (Peeps demurely, smiling 
at him round the chafing-dish.) 

Burglar. (Mellozving under influence of food — 
waxes sentimental) Say! Skirts never made a hit 
wid me before. Seen movie stars and everythin'. 
Just plain zero weather ! But say — I'd give you the 
main chanct, all right. Get me? Well, wot d' yuh 
say ? Huh ? 

Lady. T — I never flirt. (But she peeps again. Is 
becoming interested in the Burglar as a man.) 

Burglar. Same here ! Precisely. But I like yer 
style and yer general make-up. An' I'll say, yer no 
fool, either. Hungry. 

Lady. Thank you ! You're not bad looking your- 
self. Nice mouth — pleasant chin — your hair says 
you can't be thirty. Won't you please remove your 
mask? 

Burglar. (Sheepishly unmasks) Go easy, now. 
Well, do you like me any better? 

Lady. Your eyes are — nice ! I'd think you a — 
hero — if you would only give me that silver! 

Burglar. (Pleased) Be easy there! I'll treat 
yuh all right. But say ! Why don't yuh quit this 



22 THE BRIDE AND THE BURGLAR 

house-breakin' trade Nawthin' in it, absuliitely 

nawthin' — fer you. Sure as death you'll git pinched 
yet. Look at yer to-night — that durn glass mug 

smashed (His revolver drops to floor. In 

alarm she leaps up.) 

Lady. Oh, look out for that gun ! 

Burglar. (Chuckles, picks it up) Be easy there. 
That ole pop is busted. Just a scare gag fer fat men 
and wimmen. I don't take no changes bangin' off 
a noise that'll wake the neighbors. 

(^Lady in a flash reiuembers the burglar alarm — 
glances tozvard shuttered zvindows.) 

Lady. (Slips back in chair) You scared me, all 
right. 

Burglar. That's wot I say. You ain't suited to 
this game. (He had placed gun on table — she 
reaches for it as he eats — slips it in back of her on 
chair.) Your job is to git placed in some swell lay- 
out — and tip me off when the boss and the missus 
is out. Inside worker — git me ? 

Lady. It sounds — very thrilling — Mr. — Mr. ? 

Burglar. Call me Bill. Just plain Bill. That'll 
do fer now. 

Lady. All right, Mr. Bill. (They rise, shake 
hands elaborately across the table.) 

Burglar. (Again seated, attacks food) With 
me, it's different. I cum frum wot you might say is 
a royal line of crooks ! 

Lady. Really ? 

Burglar. Yeh ! Though be tactful where yuh 
mention that fact — see? 

Lady. Naturally. 

Burglar. Look at me to-night — I ain't ever 
fooled 

Lady. Have some more tea? 

Burglar. I alius size up my man every time. 



THE BRIDE AND THE BURGLAR 2^ 

Why, look here ! (Takes out fat wallet and big dia- 
mond scarf-pin.) A fren' of mine guv them to me 
to-night. 

Lady. (Giving him cup) Nice friend, I should 
say. 

Burglar. He was a round, fat-faced gent puffin' 
along down the road. "Let me give yuh a lift," I 
sez, inclined to be sociable. 'Thank you heartily," 
sez he ; least-way, I finds this wallet and the dimund 
in my hands when we parted. It's the plainest way 
of knowin' I had touched his sentiments. (Sips tea 
out of spoon.) 

Lady. (Rises, fetches sandzviches, glances quickly, 
covertly, at the clock.) It's been a lucky day for 
you, hasn't it? 

Burglar. Oh, nawthin' more than me usual. You 
see, I likes the trade and follows it successful. But 
then, I have me principles — I never rob none but 
swell layouts — and I've never been in trouble yet. 
(Knocks on wood.) 

Lady. But*aren't you afraid of the police? 

Burglar. (Winks elaborately) Me nat'r'l gar- 
deens 

Lady. (Slumps) Good gracious ! (Weeps.) 
Everybody helps you. And I want that silver so 
much ! The one thing in the world I have ever 
longed for — and you — you stole it from me ! (Lays 
dozvn head suddenly and weeps aloud.) 

Burglar. (Bezvifdered) Wot the 'ell ! Shet up — 

shet up, will yuh. Hungry Oh, damn ! Here, 

take yer durn silver (Rises, tosses bag at her 

feet.) 

Lady. (Leaps up, stoops and gathers it up in her 
arms) Oh, you Prince of a burglar ! 

Burglar. (Bashful ) I was only goin' to tote it 
fer yuh — honest. (Places hand on her shotdder.) 
I'm on the square with you, Hungry. You won't 
ever double-cross me? 



^4 THE BRIDE AND THE BURGLAR 

Lady. I promise, Mr. Bill. (She slips back in 
her chair.) 

Burglar. I seem kind of cracked — actin' like this, 
but — I've never spoke soft to a woman before — I 
come to the place where I turned upside down, just 
like I could turn one of them wicker chairs. But if 
you ever call a turn on me, Hungry 

Lady. I won't. That I promise, faithful. Though 
we never meet again, you remember this — I'm your 
friend, Mr. Bill. (She holds out her hand.) 

Burglar. (Gently) YeV my skirt now, see. Hun- 
gry. (She draws hack her hand. He attempts to 
recover it. She slips away from him — then begins 
a slozv chase round the table — she just eluding him.) 
Wait ! Listen ! S'help me, I'm on the level. An' 
to-morrer night I'll give yuh the whistle, and you 
come out in yer glad rags and we'll do the city to- 
gether. Eat at a swell joint, where we can toddle 
without danger. Just outside the city — lights 
showin' in the river below. And I'll have a fur coat 
fer yuh, Hungry. I'll hook it before I see yuh again 
— wot d'yuh say, girlie? 

Lady. I — I don't like dancing-- — (Nervously 
eluding him.) 

Burglar. But — eats. Hungry. Plates filled with 
fried chicken and everythin' ! Refreshments that'll 

make your eyes pop Aw, say! Don't act so 

skittish. Show me a little sentiment, can't yuh? 

Lady. (Thoroughly alarmed) I don't feel senti- 
mental — Mr. Bill — I've got to have time to think of 
all you have said to me 

Burglar. Quit stringin' me — peaches! If yuh 
don't be nice to me to-night, how kin I tell how you'll 
act when I takes yuh out and introduces yuh to all 
me swell fren's? Make good now. Hungry. (Grabs 
her; she struggles, beats his chest with her fists.) 

Lady. Let me go ! Let me go ! Let me go ! 

Burglar. Don't act so mad ! I ain't goin' to 



THE BRIDE AND THE BURGLAR 25 

hurt yuh — but I ain't no fool. (Clock begins strik- 
ing tJw hour of fen.) 

Lady. Listen ! Listen ! He is coming ! 

(Auto Iwni heard rapidly approaching the house.) 

Burglar. Lord! Quick! Beat it! (He jumps 
for the front door.) 

Lady. No! No! Not that way! Quick— out 

through this way (She hurries him out the 

back door. Both dash in kitchen as auto horn honks 
cheerfully — a moment later Bob enters with the suit- 
case — sees confusion — and no bride.) 

Groom. Burglars! (Cries wildly.) Sylvia! 
Sylvia ! (Turns round like a top. Alarm starts to 
go off in kitchen — is smothered quickly. He starts 
toward the sound.) Sylvia ! 

f Bride enters with a rush.) 

Groom. My precious girl! (Sweeps her in his 
arms.) 

Bride. (Gasps) The silver ! 

Groom. (Sees open chest and looted box) Bur- 
glars ! (Makes dash toward kitchen. She grabs 
him by coat-tail.) 

Bride. Don't you double-cross him ! 

Groom. Sylvia! Great guns! She's frightened 
out of her wits. 

Bride. No ! You shan't touch him ! He's run- 
ning as fast as he can, poor thing — thoroughly dis- 
illusioned ! (Picks up his gun and mask — hqlds them 
out to the Groom. J There's his gun — there's his 
mask. 

Groom. But — Judas Priest! The silver! 

Bride. Oh, yes — that, too! I saved the family 

silver (She suddenly turns, falls in the Groom's 

arms and- clings to him desperately.) 



26 THE BRIDE AND THE BURGLAR 
Groom. My precious! My precious 

(Wedding march peals out triumphantly as curtain 
quickly descends. Storm sweeps up zvith a 
crescendo blast.) 

THE END 



THE REJUVENATION OF AUNT MARY. 

The famous camedy in three acts, by Anne Warner. 7 males, 6 
females. Three interior scenes. Costumes modern. Plays 2Ji hours. 

This is a genuinely funny comedy with splendid parts for "Aunt 
Mary," "Jack," her lively nephew; "Lucinda," a New England an- 
cient maid of all work; "Jack's" three chums; the Qirl "Jack" loves; 
"Joshua," Aunt Mary's hired man, etc. 

"Aunt Mary" was played by May Robson in New York and on t«ur 
for over two years, and it is sure to be a big success wherever pro- 
duced. .Wc Strongly recommend it. Price, 6G Cent*- 



MRS. BUMSTEAD-LEIGH. 

A pleasing- comedy, in three acts, by Harry James Smith, author of 
"The Tailor-Made Man." 6 males, 6 females. One interior scene. 
Costumes modern. Plays 2J4 hours. 

Mr. Smith chose for his initial comedy the complications arising 
from the endeavors of a social climber to land herself in the altitude 
.peopled by hyphenated names— a theme permitting innumerable com- 
I plications, according to the spirit of the writer. 

This most successful comedy was toured for several seasons by Mrs. 
Fiske with enormous success. Price, 60 Cents. 



MRS. TEMPLE'S TELEGRAM. 

A most successful farce in three acts, by Frank Wyatt and Wil- 
liam Morris. 5 males, 4 Jemales. One interior scene stands through- 
out the three acts. CoGtumes modern. Plays 2^ hours. 

"Mrs. Temple's Telegram" Is a sprightly farce in which there is 
an abundance of fun without any taint of impropriety or any ele- 
ment of offence. As noticed by Sir Walter Scott, Oh, what a 
tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive. ' 

There is not a dull moment in the entire farce, and from the time 
the curtain rises until it makes the final drop the fun is fast and 
furious. A ^?Cry exceptional farce. Price, 60 Cents. 



THE NEW CO-ED. 

A comedy in four acts, by Marie Doran, author of "Tempest and 
Sunshine," etc. Characters, 4 males, 7 females, though any nuinber 
of boys and girls can be introduced in the action of the play. One 
interier and one exterior scene, but can be easily played m one inte- 
rior scene. Costumes modern. Time, about 2 hours. 

The theme oi this play is the coming of a new student to the col- 
lege, her reception by the scholars, her trials and final triumph. 

There are three especially good girls' parts, Letty, Madge and 
Estclle, but the others have plenty to do. "Punch Doohttle and 
George Washington Watts, a gcntlemaa of color, are two particularly 
good comedy characters. We can strongly recommend Tht Slew 
Co-Ed" to high schools and amateurs. Pncc, 30 Cents. 

(The Above Are Subject to Royalty When ProduMdi 



SAMUEL FRENCM, M-30 Weet 3«th SttoaA. WewYatkQty 

New and Ejqrffcft Desalpme CiHtogM MaM Frtt • 



BILLETED. 

A comedy in 3 acts, by F. Tennison Jesse and H. Harwood. 4 
males, 5 females. One easy interior scen-^. A charming comedy, 
constructed with uncommon skill, and abounds with clever lines. 
Margaret Anglin's hig success. Amateurs will find this comedy easy 
to produce and popular with all audiences. Price, 60 Cents. 

NOTHING BUT THE TRUTH. 

A comedy in 3 acts. By James Montgomery. 5 males, 6 females. 
Costumes, modern. Two interior scenes. Plays 2^/2 hours. 

Is it possible to tell the absolute truth — even for twenty-four hours? 
It is— at least Bob Bennett, the hero of "Nothing But the Truth," 
accomplished the feat. The bet he made with his business partners, 
and the trouble he got into — with his partners, his friends, and his 
fiancee — this is the subject of William Collier's tremendous comedy 
hit. "Nothing But the Truth" can be whole-heartedly recommended 
as one of the most sprightly, amusing and popular comedies that this 
country can boast, Price, 60 Cents. 



IN WALKED JIMMY. 

A comedy in 4 acts, by Minnie Z. Jaffa. 10 males, '^ females (al- 
though any number of males and females may be used as clerks, 
etc.). Two interior scenes. Costumes, modern. Plays 2^ hours. 
The thing into which Jimmy walked was a broken-down shoe factory, 
when the clerks had all been fired, and when the proprietor was in 
serious contemplation of suicide. 

Jimmy, nothing else but plain Jimmy, would have been a mysterious 
figurt had it not been for his matter-of-fact manner, his smile and 
his everlasting humanness. He put the shoe business on its feet, won 
the heart of the girl clerk, saved her erring brother from jail, escaped 
that place as a permanent boarding house himself, and foiled the 
villain. 

Clean, wholesome comedy with just a touch of human nature, just 
a dash of excitement and more than a little bit of true philosophy 
make "In Walked Jimmy" one rf the most delightful of plays. 
Jimmy is full of the religion of life, the religion of happiness and 
the religion of helpfulness, and he so permeates the atmosphere with 
his "religion" that everyone is happy. The spirit of optimism, good 
cheer, and hearty laughter dominates the play. There is not a dull 
moment in any of the four acts. We strongly recommend it. 

Price, 60 Cents. 



MARTHA BY-THE-DAY. 

An optimistic comedy in three acts, by Julie M. Lippmann, author 
of the "Martha" stories. 5 males, 5 females. Three interior scenes. 
Costumes modern. Plays 21' 'i hours. 

It is altogether a gentle thing, this play. It is full of quaint hu- 
mor, old-fashioned, homely sentiment, the kind that people who see 
the play will recall and chuckle over to-morrow and the next day. 

Miss Lippmann has herself adapted her very successful book for 
stage service, and in doing this has selected from her novel the most 
telling incidents, infectious comedy and homely sentiment for the 
play, and the result is thoroughly delightful. Price, 60 Cents. 

(The Above Are Subject to Royalty When Produced) 
SAMUEL FRENCH, 28-30 We, t 38th Street, New York City 

New and Explicit Descriptive Catjiogue IVIailed Free on Request 



Golden Days 



A comedj^ of youth, in four acts, bv Sidney Toler and 
Marion Short. 7 males, 10 females. Three interior 
scenes. Costumes modern. Plays 2V2 hours. 

"Golden Days" is a play with all the charm of youth. 
It enjoyed a run of sixteen weeks in Chicago with 
Patricia Collinge in the leading role, and was then 
brought to the Gaiety Theatre, New York, with Helen 
Hayes in the part of "Mary Anne." Price, 75 cents. 

Come Out of the Kitchen 

A charming comedy in 3 acts, adapted by A. E. Thomas 
from the story of the same name by Alice Duer Miller. 6 
males, 5 females. Three interior scenes. Costumes, 
modern. Plays 2% hours. 

"Come Out of the Kitchen," with Ruth Chatterton in 
the leading role, made a notable success on its produc- 
tion by Henry Miller at the Cohan Theatre, New York. 
Tt was also a great success at the Strand Theatre, Lon- 
don. A most ingenious and entertaining comedy, and 
we strongly recommend it for amatevir prodviction. 

Price, 75 cents 

His Majesty Bunker Bean 

A farcical comedy in four acts. By Lee Wilson Dodd, 
from the novel by Harry Leon Wilson. 12 males, 6 
feinales. Four interior scenes. Costumes, modern, Plays 
214 hours. Those who have laughed immoderately at 
Harry Leon Wilson's story will be greatly amused by 
the play, which tells the story of a cowed and cred- 
ulous youth who became kingly when he was tricked 
into believing himself a reincarnation of Napoleon. "His 
Majest5' Bunker Bean," with Taylor Holmes in the title 
role, was brought to the Astor Theatre, New York, 
after a run of 25 weeks in Chicago. A delightful and 
wholesome farce comedy with no dull moments. 

Price, 75 cents 



A Full House 



A farcical comedy in three acts. By Fred Jackson. 
7 males, 7 females. One interior scene. Modern cos- 
tumes. Plaj's 214 hours. This newest and funniest of 
all farces was written by Fred Jackson, the well-known 
short story writer, and is backed up by the prestige 
of an impressive New York success and the promise of 
unlimited fun presented in the most attractive form. 
A cleverer farce has not been seen for many a long 
day. "A Full House" is a house full of lavighs. 

Price, 75 cents 

(The Abov«> Are Siabjoct ta Royalty When Produced) 

SAMI EL FRENCH, 2S-30 West 3Sth Stret't, New York City 

Xe'w\ aiul Kxnljcit DescrijJtive Cntaloffiie Mailed 

[.yoe on Request 



LS^L*"' CONGRESS 



Claren 




comedy in four acts by Booth Tarkington, autnor 
'The Man From Home," "Penrod," "The Country 
Cousin," etc. 5 males, 5 females. Two interior scenes. 
Costumes, modern. Plays 'Zy^ hours. 

Clarence has no medals, no shoulders bars, no great 
accomplishment. One of the "five million," he served 
wliere he was sent — though it was no further than Texas. 
As an entomologist he found — on this side of the ocean — 
no field for his specialty in the great war. So they set 
him to driving mules. 

Now, reduced to civil life and seeking a job, he finds 
a position in the home of one, Wheeler, a wealthy Eng- 
elwood man with a family. And because he'd "been in 
the army" he becomes guide, philosopher and friend to 
the members of that same agitated and distracted family 
group. Clarence's position is an anomolous one. He 
mends the bathroom plumbing, he tunes the piano, he 
types — off stage — he plays the saxophone. And around 
him revolves such a group of characters as only Booth 
Tarkington could offer. It is a real American comedy; 
and the audience ripples with appreciative and delighted 
laughter. 

Those marvelous young people, Cora and Bobby Wheel- 
er, are portrait sketches warranted to appeal to every 
one but the originals. Their truth will be lost on the 
"Flapper" and the "pr.ep" school youth, but to their par- 
•-nts and guardians, to all, indeed, who have emerged 
from the serious, self-conscious, period of adolescence, 
they will be an enduring joy. 

"Clarence" is a real delight. It is as Arnerican as 
"Huckleberry Finn" or pumpkin pie. It is as delight- 
ful as any native comedy which has tried to lure the 
lauglitcr of this country in the last ten seasons. 

Price, 75 cents. 

Three Live Ghosts 

A comedy in three acts by Frederick Isham and Max 
Marcin. 6 males, 4 females (2 policemen). One interior 
scene stands throughout the three acts. Costumes, mo- 
dern. Plays 21^ hours. 

"Three Live Ghosts" is brim full of fun and humor and 
is sure to keep audiences in gales of laughter. The 
New York critics described it as the most ingenious 
and amusing comedy of the season and genuinely and 
heartily funny. It played a full season in New York 
and then toured the big cities. A lively comedy of merit 
we can strongly recommend for amateur production. 

Price, 75 cents. 

(The Abov«» Ape Subject to Royalty When Produced) 

SAMUEL, FRENCH, 2,S-30 AVest 3Sth Street, New York City 

Ne-iv and Explicit Descriptive Catalogrne Mailed ^ 
Free on Request 



